


Murder Without Reservation

by BlueAvenue



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-06-30 06:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueAvenue/pseuds/BlueAvenue
Summary: Crossover between Castle and one of my favorite "rom-coms," No Reservations starring Catherine Zeta-Jones, Aaron Eckhart and a young Abigail Breslin.  Castle treats Beckett, Alexis and Martha to dinner at the trendy West Village eatery where another Kate--Armstrong as it happens--presides as executive chef.  The murder of an acid-tongued restaurant critic, hours after clashing with Kate Armstrong in her own dining room, draws Castle and Beckett into the world of haute cuisine.  Be advised I take some small liberties with the established Season Five timeline of the Castleverse.





	1. Apertif

**Author's Note:**

> Proving, I hope, that I can write something more "mainstream" when it comes to Castle fanfic. This may prove tricky, as I'm still unsure how I'll juggle two fiercely intelligent, strong-willed, remarkably beautiful female "leads," both of whom happen to be named Kate. Wish me luck.

Kate Beckett, a woman as yet unused to letting down her guard, never relaxed entirely until setting foot inside the loft that over the last six weeks had become not merely her home but her refuge, its walls a bulwark against the chaos and ugliness of the world beyond.  Here she felt safe.  Here she was loved by a remarkable man whom she loved in return, even if it had taken a near-death experience for her to acknowledge unspoken yearnings so long denied.  Shedding her raincoat in the entryway, her thoughts drifted back to the night she'd stood bruised and bedraggled before him, braving his disdainful, disbelieving look as she stammered out the truth.

_I just want you._

She'd staked her future on his wellspring of love, compassion and above all forgiveness, the equivalent of a Hail Mary pass.  It still terrified Kate to contemplate how close she had come to losing him.

"Beckett?"

Her heart lifted as it always did at the sound of her lover's voice.  Castle rounded the bookshelf separating the living room and entryway bearing a goblet of white wine in his hand.  He favored her with one of those roguish smiles that invariably left her warm and melty inside.  Kate accepted the glass with a grateful nod.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I heard the fatigue in your voice when you called from the precinct.  I could tell you had a rough day."

"It was a bitch."  Kate grazed her lips across his. Castle held the kiss, leaning into her until his weight pinned her body against the door. She fondly remembered how they'd necked like teenagers on this very spot while lightning strobed off the windows and thunder grumbled in the near distance, perfect counterpoint to their unleashed passion four years in the making. In hindsight it surprised her they'd made it all the way to the bedroom before undressing each other.

"Dad, I just confirmed our--"  Alexis halted in mid-sentence, flushing at the spectacle of her father sucking face with her prospective stepmother.  "Should I come back later?"

Castle broke the kiss first, albeit reluctantly.  "Caught _en flagrante_ once again," he sighed.

"Don't embarrass me tonight by checking baseball scores on your phone every five minutes and you stand a good chance of getting lucky later on," Kate said archly.

"What is this baseball of which you speak?" Castle asked with altar boy innocence.  

Alexis cleared her throat, unable to contain a sly smile.  "As I was saying, I confirmed our reservations for seven tonight."   

"Time enough for me to shower and change," Kate said.  She handed Castle her raincoat, then trailed her boyfriend and his daughter into the living room.  "Remind me where we're going for your birthday dinner."

"A place in the West Village," Alexis said.  "Twenty-two Bleeker Street."

"Yes, but what's it called?"

"That's the name, Twenty-two Bleeker."

"Clever."

"Five star review from Zagat," added Castle, sinking into the cushions of the sectional sofa.  Kate worked her holstered .40 Glock free of her waistband and set it on the coffee table before joining him.  She draped her long, denim-clad legs across his lap, no longer in the least self-conscious about kissing, hand-holding or other displays of affection in front of Martha or Alexis.  It helped that both women had given her their unqualified stamp of approval.  Kate still smiled when she recalled Martha's reaction ("about goddamn time") and that of Alexis ("Thank you, Jesus") the morning they walked in on her cooking a breakfast omelet wearing only one of Rick's button-down shirts.       

"Kate, you mind if I hit the shower first?" asked Alexis. She and Martha normally shared the shower upstairs, but a leaky drainpipe had rendered it unusable until the plumber arrived.

"Go ahead," replied Kate.  "I'm just gonna sit here and decompress a while."

"Okay.  I won't be long."

"No rush."

Castle threaded fingers with her.  "Tell me about your day."

"We interviewed Diane Robinette in Singer Center at Rikers," said Kate, nursing her Chablis.  "Javi, Abby Carmichael and I."

"ADA Carmichael, is she the tall drink of water from Texas? Baylor Law grad? The one sleeping with Jack McCoy, only no one's supposed to know?"  

"The same.  Diane's attorney was there, of course."

"Did she divulge a motive for killing the boyfriend?"

"She caught him abusing her eleven-year-old daughter."

Castle's mouth set in a grim line.  "Sexually?"

"He made _videos,_ Rick."  Kate's voice broke on a sob as she trembled with barely repressed fury.  Castle hastily pried the wineglass from her hand lest she spill its contents on the sofa.  "Her lawyer played them for us.  This worthless... _fuck_ used his smartphone to record video of this _child_ giving him oral sex."

"Christ."

"That's why we couldn't locate his phone.  She gave it to her lawyer for safekeeping."

"Her ace in the hole.  No jury would convict her of anything beyond breach of the peace once they saw the video."

"Videos, plural.  It's been going on for weeks.  The girl was too terrified of him to tell Diane.  She'll be in therapy for years."  Kate bowed her head.  "There are times..."

"Yes?"

"There are times when I ask myself why I wanted my shield back in the first goddamn place.  There truly is evil in the world, Rick.  I saw it on that cellphone.  If I can't keep shit like this from happening, what good am I?"

Castle reached out to cup Kate's chin in his free hand, tilting her face toward him.  A solitary tear coursed down her cheek.  "Kate...you have to accept that even as a police officer there are certain things you can't prevent.  What you can do--what you're so good at doing--is be an advocate for the victim.  To find them a measure of justice.  Your commitment to the victims is what makes you such a good cop."  He pulled her to him and kissed away the tear.  "It also happens to be one of the many reasons I adore you."

She bit down on her lower lip.  "When I think about how I shut you out for so long..."

"I thought we talked this through in Vermont," he said. Following Kate's rooftop encounter with professional killer Cole Maddox, she and Castle had gone to ground at her dad's secluded cabin. It had been a week of reconnecting: leisurely breakfasts and intimate dinners; quiet conversations and comfortable silences; long walks in the woods and rainy afternoons making love.  Their self-imposed exile ended when a Vermont state trooper appeared on their doorstep to relay a two-word request from Javi Esposito: phone home.

With no cellular coverage they had to call from the state police barracks in town.  Espo advised them of two seemingly unrelated events: the singularly brutal murder of semi-retired corporate lawyer Michael Smith and an explosion in a Chelsea office building under renovation. Searchers located shredded human remains eventually identified as those of an ex-Army sniper named Cedric Marks--a/k/a Cole Maddox.  Bomb and Arson concluded the safe Marks had been attempting to open was booby-trapped, blowing the assassin to whatever unfashionable circle of Hell would have him.  The file he died attempting to retrieve had been reduced to confetti.

Marks' demise was not so much a reprieve as a stay of execution.  Whoever hired him to kill Kate was wealthy and well-connected enough to bide his (?) time and try again, and without Roy Montgomery's file to shield her Kate lived in a constant state of vigilance both on duty and off.  Espo, Ryan, Castle, even Officer Ann Hastings took turns escorting her to and from the 12th.      

"We did," Kate acknowledged.  "I just want you to know I'm grateful every waking moment that you were able to forgive me."

"You never have to ask forgiveness because there's nothing to forgive.  It was something you had to work through on your own while I gave you the space to do it.  I never lost faith in you, Kate.  I never lost faith in _us."_  

"God, I am so in love with you," she breathed.  Their lips melded in a long, soulful kiss.

"Tell you what," Castle said once they'd come up for air.  "Go in our bedroom, you'll find a box on the bed."  Kate felt a comforting warmth seep through her at his use of the word _our._ "Something I bought you, with input from Alexis."

Kate's eyes narrowed.  "Castle, I asked you not to spend money on me."

"I just signed a three-book deal with my publisher.  Thanks to you and Nikki Heat I have more money than I can spend in a lifetime.  Indulge me."  He said this with a pretty-please look in the guileless blue eyes she had come to cherish as much as she did the rest of him. Resistance, to coin a phrase, was futile.  

"Just this once," she said, "and only because it's your daughter's nineteenth birthday."

"And after you've showered and dressed, we'll climb into a town car with Alexis and Martha.  Then we're off for a memorable evening at one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan."

It proved to be a memorable evening indeed--though for reasons neither Rick Castle nor Kate Beckett could have imagined.   

   

  

        

 

   


	2. Entree

Richard Castle struggled to sort through conflicting emotions about his daughter's wardrobe choice while she deftly fashioned a Windsor knot in his necktie.  His immediate reaction--Alexis looked nothing less than adorable in a timeless Little Black Dress with spaghetti straps--was tempered by fatherly concern over the neckline and hemline, which exposed more cleavage and leg respectively than he was altogether comfortable with.  Most of all he felt a sense of bewilderment.  What had become of his little girl?  Who was this poised, self-assured young woman standing before him and where had she come from?   

Not for the first time Castle asked himself how it was possible Alexis had made a seamless transition from child to teen to responsible adult given an upbringing that was in no way conventional: two divorces, a fading starlet for a mother, a calculating bitch for a stepmom, a literal drama queen for a live-in grandparent.  She also had to cope with a father who was-- _let's be honest here_ \--an arrested adolescent.  Like as not he would still be appearing on Page Six of the New York tabloids with his newest arm candy had it not been for Detective 2nd Grade Katherine Beckett.   _That's what Kate did for me,_ he reflected.   _She made me put away childish things and become a grown man worthy of her.  In doing so I finally became the father my kid deserves._

"What's wrong?" asked Alexis as she straightened his tie.

Castle swiped clumsily at his misted eyes. "Nothing."

"Dad, can I ask kind of a personal question?"

"Fire away."

"Are you guys making this official?"

"Say again?"

"You and Kate.  I mean, she's more or less moved in with us."

"True fact," he said.  Kate's apartment was little more than a way station of late, a place to pick up mail or clean laundry.  She'd opted not to renew her lease when it expired in mid-August, deciding after extended pillow talk with him that committing to each other for life meant exactly that, no turning back and no off ramps. The "m-word" had yet to come up in conversation, but both knew it was on the table.      

"We were having breakfast together the other morning," Alexis persisted.  "You were on the phone with your publicist, remember?  Kate was filling out a form, something she had to file to update her medical coverage.  She listed you as her domestic partner."

"We're both in this for the long haul," Castle assured his daughter.

"Oh god, I feel so good hearing you say that."

Martha swept into the room, elegant in a cream-colored blouse and flowing floral print skirt. "Richard dear, are you almost ready? Our driver texted me just now, he's less than two blocks away."

"I have to strap up. Won't be a minute." Castle retreated into the walk-in closet, emerging forty seconds later with the semi-auto pistol he stored in a lockbox to which he alone possessed the key. Being on a first-name basis with the Mayor had fast-tracked the normally torturous process of obtaining a New York State concealed carry permit. He racked a round into the chamber before seating the .40 Smith & Wesson in the pancake holster behind his right hip.

"Am I the only one here troubled by the fact we can no longer leave home unarmed?" Martha wondered aloud.

"The woman I love is a moving target for some evil son of a bitch out there," Castle said evenly. "Better to have a loaded gun and not need it--"

"Yes, I know," Martha sighed, "than to need a gun and not have it."

Castle pulled on his suit jacket.  "Speaking of Kate--"

"Did someone take my name in vain just now?" she inquired, striding from the master bath on stiletto heels that added three inches to her already regal height.  Castle's breath stalled in his throat at the sight of Kate Beckett in a strapless, backless emerald green dress that fit her every supple curve like a coat of lacquer, while setting off her russet hair and hazel eyes.

"Katherine, you're absolutely radiant," gushed Martha.

Alexis nodded assent.  "You totally rock that dress."

"Thank you," Kate said with a shy grin.  "I haven't shown this much skin in public since my boyfriend here dragooned me into being his date for that fundraiser."  Placing hands firmly on hips she pivoted to confront Castle.  "Come clean, Mister.  How much money did you drop on this?"

"A mere bagatelle," he said blithely.  "All that matters is that you look sensational in it."

"Uh-oh," said Martha as her smartphone warbled.  She brushed a fingertip across the screen.  "Our driver is waiting on the Broome Street side." 

"Give me time to grab my purse and I'll let him know we're almost ready," Alexis offered.  She sprinted from the room.

"We'll see you downstairs," Martha called after her.  "Hurry along, you two.  It's bad form to make reservations at a popular restaurant and not show up on time." 

Castle waited until his mother had followed Alexis out the door before stepping to the dresser.  He picked up the gold chain with Johanna Beckett's wedding band attached.  "Don't forget this, Kate," he said.

She swallowed.  "Is my wearing that really such a good idea?"

"You never leave home without it.  Never."

"Tonight's different."  Her eyes dropped to the tiny concave scar visible between her breasts.

"Are you worried this will call attention to your wound?"

"No one aside from you and my doctors has seen it since I left the hospital."

"And if anyone's thoughtless enough to ask, tell 'em it's a battle scar honorably acquired in the line of duty." 

"While delivering the eulogy for a man we both know to be a corrupt cop."

"Who gave his life trying to save yours."

Kate smiled wanly.  "Yeah, I keep reminding myself of that.  Otherwise I'd have a guilty conscience about handing the Department that bullshit story the four of us cooked up."

"We also did it for the sake of his wife and daughters."  Castle folded her into his embrace.  His fingertips traced her surgical scars through the fabric of her dress.  "Kate, your wounds are nothing to be ashamed of or apologize for.  They are part of who you are, so is your mother's ring.  Both are a testament to your strength, your resilience, your passion for what you do.  Wear them proudly tonight."

"Rick, tell me something," she murmured into his chest, "do you write this shit in advance, or does it just roll off your tongue like that?"

"Words are how I make my living." He planted a kiss in her fragrant hair. "Ready to strut your stuff, Beckett?"

Kate donned the necklace, the ring coming to rest just above her entry wound.  She then hefted her shoulder bag, custom made by a leather goods shop on Houston Street, in which she'd stowed her iPhone, detective shield, Glock and a spare magazine loaded with fifteen hollowpoint rounds.  "I am now.  Let's do this, Castle.  Our public awaits."

 

 

 

 


	3. Salad

Kate Armstrong reflected that having a onetime rival for a lover and colleague was a tricky proposition at best.  She and Nick Palmer had agreed at the outset to maintain clearly defined lines of demarcation between their culinary duties, and so far it seemed to be working.  Watching Nick dice veggies with the enthusiastic help of his nine-year-old apprentice--who also happened to be Kate's orphaned niece Zoe--she gave silent thanks the stars had seemingly aligned in their favor.  In some alternate universe the clash of egos would have resulted in one of them quitting 22 Bleeker Street to either accept an executive chef slot elsewhere or start his/her own restaurant. 

Which reminded Kate that she could no longer defer the Serious Talk she'd promised Nick about striking out on their own.  She experienced a twinge of guilt at the thought.  Paula Devere had been an exemplary employer, granting her time off to grieve for her dead sister, keeping her on the payroll even after Kate's hair-trigger temper sparked ugly scenes in the dining room--with the proviso she seek professional help for her anger management issues.  That said, she and Nick both yearned to own and manage their own restaurant.  Kate was hopeful they could make it happen somehow, hoped also Paula would understand if and when the time came.

A polite throat-clearing behind her announced Paula's arrival.  Kate half-turned, continuing to whisk egg whites into the pan of hollandaise sauce before her.  Paula stood there wearing the strained smile that generally preceded the delivery of bad news.  "Let me guess," Kate said blandly.  "The New York State Department of Family Services found out about Zoe and they're here to shut us down."

Paula cringed.  "Dear God, you think I don't have nightmares about that?"  It was a measure of the value she attached to Kate Armstrong that she turned a blind eye to a minor "helping out" on high-traffic Friday and Saturday nights.  Her mere presence in the kitchen entailed a colossal risk and they both knew it.  "Actually, I'm here to give you a heads-up.  I got a call just now from a friend who works for the _Register._ "

Kate reached for a bottle of lemon juice.  "And?"

"She passed Leander Floyd's desk this afternoon and noticed he was viewing our website on his computer."

"Oh," replied Kate.  The sudden spike in her heart rate belied her nonchalant air.  Leander Floyd, longtime food critic for the _New York Register,_ could make or break a trendy eatery with a few choice words.  Upon learning his portrait was posted like a mug shot in fine dining establishments throughout the Five Boroughs, Floyd had taken to making reservations under an assumed name and even disguising himself, no one the wiser until a laudatory or lacerating review appeared in his newspaper's print and online editions.

"I'm only surprised he's taken this long getting around to us," Paula continued.

"That's a good thing," Kate said.  "Our reputation is so solid he can't put us out of business with a negative write-up.  I can name five or six places that went under because he awarded them two stars or less."

"Floyd actually ate here a week after we first opened.  Before your time.  Four stars, so either your predecessor was at the top of his game or he was in a generous mood that night.  I suspect the latter."   

"Paula, let's not go to Defcon One just yet, okay?  If Floyd was in fact checking out our website, that doesn't necessarily mean he's walking in here tonight or the night after.  And if he does, rest assured we'll cook him a meal worthy of a five-star review.  We've got this."

"Well then, I have one other juicy tidbit you might find interesting."

Nick Palmer sauntered over.  "Hey, I enjoy a juicy tidbit as much as the next guy," he said with that disarming smile that charmed women and put men at ease in his presence.

"Richard Castle will be dining with us tonight," Paula announced.  

"The mystery writer?" Nick asked.

"It's a special occasion, his daughter's birthday.  Four-top at seven, Mr. Castle, his daughter and mom, plus his new girlfriend."   

"The cop who moved in with him," said Kate, who read Page Six in the tabloids as faithfully as any New Yorker.  "Beckwith, isn't it?"

" _Beckett,_ as in Samuel.  She happens to be a Kate as well."

"I dunno, ladies," Nick said.  "Two smart, beautiful, take-charge women named Kate under one roof? Kinda like mixing matter and antimatter on _Star Trek._ Am I the only one who sees a potential for trouble here?"

"Just keep her from wandering into my kitchen," Kate implored.  "Seriously.  She spots Zoe it's all over."

"Not to worry," Paula laughed.  "If Detective Beckett goes anywhere near the kitchen I'll wrestle her to the floor."  

"I believe they have laws against that," Nick said.  "Assaulting police officers, I mean.  You could spend a night in jail."

"Hey, I'm already breaking child labor laws dating back to the Roosevelt Administration--Teddy, not Franklin.  What's one more felony?"  Paula stole a glance at her watch.  "Whup, five to seven.  Time I headed up front.  I want to be sure and greet them at the door."   

 

Moving with an alacrity remarkable in one so obese, Bruno the limo driver scuttled around the front end of the town car to the passenger side.  He hauled open the rear door, nodding courteously to Castle as he emerged from the gleaming black Lincoln.  Castle in turn handed Kate Beckett out of the limo, a gallantry he extended to Alexis and Martha as well.  Out of habit he made a visual sweep in both directions.  Yellow cabs swarmed Bleeker Street like a school of tropical fish.  Up the block sidewalk musicians were mangling John Lennon's "Nobody Told Me." A homeless man on the corner clutched a scrap of cardboard hand-lettered PLEASE HELP.  Sirens keened in the near distance.  In short, the typical vibrant chaos of New York City on a steaming hot summer night.

_What a fuckin' zoo,_ thought Richard Castle.  _Nowhere else on Earth I'd rather live._

He pressed a crisp new fifty into Bruno's palm and asked that he return for them two hours hence.  The driver bobbed his head in acknowledgment before retreating to the air-conditioned comfort of his limousine.  Castle then turned his attention back to Kate.  To his mild alarm she was intently studying a man loitering outside the restaurant. Granted, there _was_ something off-center about him: pocked face, oily blond hair worn in an unconvincing combover, mismatched jacket and pants apparently fished from a bin of clothing even Goodwill wouldn't touch, both too short for his lank frame.  The man looked expectantly up and down Bleeker, pulling back a frayed shirt cuff to consult his watch.

"Are you checking out the guy dressed like a Martian?" Castle whispered in Kate's ear.

"You're getting the same vibe I am?  That he doesn't belong?"  She shook her head, frowning.  "I'm almost certain I've seen his face before."  

"On a wanted poster?"

"No, more like a police sketch."

He took her by the arm.  "Beckett, we're both off the clock.  Tonight's a special occasion. Unless you have ironclad proof he pulled the trigger on JFK and framed Oswald for it, please let this one go."               

Kate let him steer her toward the entrance, where Martha and Alexis waited with ill-concealed impatience, but could not resist giving the strange man a last swiftly analytical glance as she went inside.

Paula Devere, co-founder and now sole owner of 22 Bleeker Street, escorted them to their table.  Castle was smugly aware every eye was on the tawny-haired beauty at his side.  Being a gentleman of the old school he seated his mother first, then Alexis, and finally Kate.  Paula advised that Darci, their server for tonight, would be with them shortly.  "If there's anything I can do for you in the meantime, don't hesitate to ask," she said.       

"Actually..." began Kate.

"Yes?"

"I take it as a restaurant owner you're familiar with Triple-D?"

Paula laughed uncertainly.  "I am, yes."

"Oh, god," Alexis groaned.  "As the birthday girl, I hereby declare a moratorium on shop talk.  Especially serial killers."

"Allie, he's not a serial killer," Kate assured her.

"He sounds like one."

"Triple-D is short for 'Dash and Dine Dater.'  He meets women through social media, invites them to dinner, orders the most expensive items on the menu--drinks, main courses, desserts--then finds some lame excuse to jet before the check arrives.  Paula, we distributed a composite drawing of him late last week.  Did you get a copy?"

"We have several," Paula said.  "One at the host desk, one behind the bar, another in my office."

"Please do me a favor.  Step outside and take a look at the man standing under the canopy.  Then come back and tell us what you think.  Be casual.  Try not to spook him."

Paula reacted with a skeptical smile, but turned and strode toward the front door.

"I'm pleasantly surprised to learn the New York Police Department has the resources to pursue a con artist," Martha said.

"He's victimized seven women," Kate explained.  "The individual cases are misdemeanors, but collectively they amount to a felony."

"And what if the guy out front is Triple-D?" demanded a visibly irritated Castle.  "Do you plan on cuffing him personally and marching him to the nearest precinct?  In heels, I might add?"

"Relax, Rick."  She laid a placating hand on his arm.  "I'll call for a radio car and ask the uniforms to make the transport.  They'll be happy to take credit for the collar.  Look good on their weekly activity report."

Paula had not returned by the time Darci appeared to take drink orders.  Castle and Beckett swapped worried looks before making their way up front, where they found their hostess deep in conversation with a blonde woman in a sleeveless summer dress. The blonde appeared disconsolate.

"It was him, no question," Paula said in response to Kate's unasked question.  She held up the suspect drawing.  Kate thought it an excellent likeness of the man in the hand-me-down clothes.  Score one for the Forensic Art unit.

" _Was?_ " echoed Castle.

"I walked up to the window just as he was introducing himself to Gail here.  The thought of him preying on another woman and doing it in _my_ restaurant pissed me off, quite frankly.  I rapped on the glass to get his attention and showed him the sketch.  He took off running up Bleeker toward Abingdon Square." Paula caught her breath. "Was I not supposed to do that?"

Kate slid her phone from the pocket in her bag.  If she alerted Central in time there was a decent chance a nearby sector car would spot him.  She noted Castle regarding her in wordless disapproval and immediately thought better of it. "No, you did the right thing, Paula.  I'm off-duty, this is our evening out, all police work is on hold starting now."

"Thank you," Castle said quietly.

"Another one who got away and I realize it doesn't matter in the long run," Kate said with a rueful smile.  "Seems to be happening a lot lately."

Castle reached out to squeeze her hand.  "It means you're getting your priorities in order.  I take that as a good sign."

"He won't be coming around here anymore," Paula said.  "That's for damn sure.  Gail, please accept my apologies for ruining your dinner date.  If it's any consolation Detective Beckett here saved you from being scammed to the tune of a hundred dollars or more.  I'm willing to comp your meal if you decide to stay."

"I _knew_ there was something sketchy about this guy going in," said Gail, less dispirited now.  "I was trying to think of a graceful way out when he saw the drawing and bolted, so thank you.  Make for an interesting story for my co-workers Monday morning.  And yes, I accept your offer."

Paula signaled for Raul, her Dominican head waiter.  As Raul approached, a stricken look crossed his face and he pointed to a tall figure looming in in the vestibule.  Paula turned and grimaced.  "Oh, shit."

Kate tensed.  "Paula, what is it?" she asked apprehensively.

"Excuse me, I have to put my kitchen on Defcon One," said Paula Devere.  "That's Leander Floyd coming through the door."

 

 

 

 

 

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


End file.
